White Streaks
by writeitonme
Summary: This wasn't the first time you were stupid enough to try and destroy yourself to get her, to convince her to pick you. But you can't promise this'll be the last time either.


"Are you cold?" You ask slightly leaning forward, your eyes squinting. Everything's blurry, almost swallowed in black even through the faint glow of light streaming from the window behind you.

"No," she says simply, her hands creeping up her arms.

You barely see anything but you can see her, her pale skin reflecting the light like marble and the black contrast of her hair spilling on her shoulders. You stand a foot from the table she's sitting on, both of you settling where the light flickers, like moths seeking out light.

You shrug, looking back out the window, seeing nothing but a curtain of rain and the blurring picture of the pavement littered with the smeared glow of streetlights outside. "You don't like me," you say, watching your breath float and form itself on the cold glass in front of you. You feel her shift behind you.

"I do not 'not like' you," she says, her voice almost falling to a whisper. A smile almost tugs at your lips. "I'd say 'hate' is more accurate," she clears her throat, vibrations raking at her voice.

You turn around and you see her shivering. "Not cold, huh," you say to yourself while you tug at the cloth of your sweater.

She smirks. "Yes, I am not cold, genius."

"I can see that," you nod, pursing your lips as her nails form white crescent marks on her skin.

"I want coffee. Get me coffee," she says, eyes falling on your left wrist.

"What's the magic word?" you say while unconsciously pushing your sleeve lower over your wrist behind your back.

"Coffee," she repeats, craning her neck to the side while one of her hands reach for her nape.

"Why would you even think I'd get anything for you?"

"Because I told you to," she peers into your eyes, waiting, "and because it is me who's asking."

You rest your back on the window pane, averting your eyes to the ceiling. "In case you just hit your head or something," you look back, making eye contact, "we are trapped in a school clinic in the middle of a storm."

"This is your fault," she says.

"No, it isn't. You fell asleep."

"Yes, it is your fault."

A blinding light flashes and she doesn't even blink nor flinch.

"I slipped and fell into the water," you say.

"Like I'd believe that."

You don't answer. Instead, you stand up and make your way to the door, trying to force the lock open.

"No matter how hard you try, that door won't open," she says while standing by the window, looking out. The room echoes with the loud crackling of thunder and your hand banging at the door repeatedly. "You'll only end up in the rain anyway."

"I can ignore the rain."

"You can't ignore what's really there."

"Like the way you're trying to pretend that you aren't cold?" You cross your arms, seeing her shiver as the rain outside rushes faster.

"This is not about that," her hands rip away from their grip on her arms, falling to her side in fists. She takes a step closer.

"Yes it is. Everything is."

"God, this is why I can't stand you," her hands quickly return, hugging herself as she shivers uncontrollably, the wind starting to pick up, rattling the window.

"You're shivering," you take a few steps toward her.

"So what?" she says through her teeth, taking a step back.

"We need to get you some blankets."

"Then hurry up and find some," she bends slightly forward, teeth almost chattering.

You sigh, walking up to the cupboards. You feel her stand beside you as you pull out two blankets. "You're wrong," you say, turning toward her.

"It's a game," she snatches the blankets from your hands then slowly makes her way back to the table.

"How can you be so sure of that?"

"It's always been a competition. Everything is," she twists, glaring at you, anchoring her hands on the edge of the table.

"A cruel game where you always win," you start picking at you sweater again.

"Yes," she turns back, looking out the window, "I always win, always."

"It doesn't have to be a game."

"Don't you get it? It's a game and it isn't real. I have my realities and I prefer staying in them. The problem with you is that you don't know which is which and when to stop," she says, her back still turned on you.

"You made me do it."

"I don't want to talk about this," she waves her hand above her shoulder.

"I slipped and fell into the ocean much like this game," you continue.

"You didn't fall into the ocean."

"You're right, I fell into something else."

"This is why you lost," she says, hugging the blanket tighter around her.

"I never wanted to play your game," you sit beside her, watching static through the window.

"But here you are now."

"It could happen again," you hold out your left wrist against the faint light. She takes it, examining the white line down you wrist.

"You really are stupid," she says while tracing it down your arm.

"Pick me," you say, rubbing your eyes with one hand.

"You know I can't do that. I won't do that."

* * *

**A.N.: Here's an experiment. Feel free to be confused and guess.**

**I fail at editing (by editing, I mean to **_**de-vague-afy**_**) this very vague thing (that I wrote roughly a year ago). This was actually longer and vaguer in my head but... this all I can manage to salvage from my sleep deprived brain then.**

**If you hate it then it's my fault. If you love it then great (you shall get an imaginary hug from me).**

**Please do review (I'll give you a cookie if I could). Any kind of comment/critique is welcome and most appreciated but no slaughtering. **

**Now off I go to drown in a pool filled with strangers that is hopefully pee-free.**


End file.
